


you take me by the heart when you take me by the hand

by Groco



Category: Marvel 616, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Roommates, and they were roommates!, plot thread about dove chocolate wrappers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Groco/pseuds/Groco
Summary: David and Tommy become roommates, Tommy learns to cook, twin brothers and best friends are nuisances, and chocolate wrappers solve everything.
Relationships: Billy Kaplan & Tommy Shepherd, David Alleyne/Tommy Shepherd, Kate Bishop & Tommy Shepherd
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	you take me by the heart when you take me by the hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supersoldierskywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoldierskywalker/gifts).



> title from "hey mickey" by toni basil. you know. the cheesy 80s song.

Tommy eventually broke the silence.

“I guess she moved out a year or two ago, and no one’s bought it since.”

“I'm glad we're not resorting to trespassing, then.” David joked. Tommy laughed humorlessly.

“This place isn't close to big, but, she was living here all alone. The wallpaper and carpet are the same. My bedframe’s still up in my room.”

The house looked run down, but whether that was because its current abandonment or previous neglect, David didn't know. The dead grass covering the yard was up to their calves, rustling in the cold late February wind.

“Have you...looked into at all?”

Tommy’s breath was visible as he gave out of huff. “Not really. My guess she's pretending she's childless and together with some asshole boyfriend.”

“...with a cycle of abuse, victims tend to seek out-”

“Don't fucking tell me your facts about this, David. I-I'm sorry but you don't-”

Tommy grit his teeth, taking a shuddering breath.

“But, you know, that's why I'm here in the first place. I can't resist coming back here, this fucking house. I got shoved in the back door right there, but I'm also thinking when I would climb that tree. And, if I saw her, I don't know if I wouldn't melt. Her face-I can't just hate it.

“I’d live here again over my dead body. But if they tore this place down, if I saw someone move in and repaint-I'd lose it. I need this place to still be here.”

Another pregnant pause settled in, broken only by particularly fierce gusts of wind and the clacking of something metal against the house.

“I hate this fucking porch, I think.”

David waited in silence for a moment. “You want to leave?”

“I wanna kick in a kitchen cabinet.”

David remained silent.

“My dad busted one up so often it never closed right. I wanna kick the door off. Again.”

Tommy kept his eyes locked on something through a dirty window, lips pressed tightly. 

He let out another deep, shuddering breath, tore his gaze downwards, and turned to leave.

* * *

They’d rode the bus there, mostly.

The reasoning was:

  1. Tommy could and would bolt
  2. David decided something this important required a “journey”
  3. As well as a refractory period
  4. Tommy not running away could be a learning moment 
  5. Or really bad, one of the two
  6. David didn't want to be lugged via super speed to yet another unknown location 
  7. Tommy didn't really want to use super speed there anyways



They took the bus back. Tommy's legs were still jittering up and down, but he was silent. His face only read of tiredness, because there was nothing to anxiously await any longer. It was done, and all that was left was contemplation. If he chose to.

David put his headphones in and quietly closed into himself. 

Sometime later the thumping next to his foot stopped. He looked up, and Tommy’s eyebrows were pinched together, mouth pursed ready to open and say something.

“Did anyone tell you about the time Billy and I went looking for Wanda? The first time. We went to her old house in New Jersey. We rode the bus back. This is just really, that word you and Billy-”

“Fractals?”

“Yeah. Something like that. It's weird. I don't know why I just rode the bus back with him. It was probably part of the bonding experience. Like, why part here. I keep telling myself that's why I stuck around with the Young Avengers too. At the beginning, at least.”

He kept his eyes trained on the seat in front of him.

“And I'm here on a bus again. But this time, I think I know that, I don't want to go back alone.”

* * *

It happened like this: 

Tommy had a shitty job, and so did David. Tommy and David had lunch together, then a stakeout.

Half a year or so and a multidimensional adventure later, Tommy and David no longer had those shitty jobs.

For a little while, at least. Old jobs were replaced were new ones, shittiness yet to be fully determined- David landed as a temp, while Tommy mumbled something to him about “Uber Eats”. 

As for apartments, in mid January, David asked: “Hey, where are you living?”

Tommy sniffed, wiping a runny nose on his sleeve, and took a bite of one of the two hot dogs in his hands. “Depends.”

David cocked an eyebrow. “On what?”

Tommy continued chewing as they walked away from the seediest-looking hot dog stand on David’s commute to work. “The place I was staying at before...all that, it kinda got run down while I was gone, so, the heat is shit and off half the time-”

“It’s the middle of January-”

“-and I naturally have a high body temperature. You should know this. If I’m actually cold I just go for a run or crash at Billy’s. It’s fine.”

David continued frowning at Tommy, his own hot dog untouched. “What kind of place doesn’t look into a tenant being gone for over six months?”

“A shitty kind.” He paused, his second hot dog poised to eat, “And you’re what?”

“Back at my parents’ again. I was working and saving up, beforehand.” David gives his hot dog a look. “You know with rent, and roommates…”

Tommy, finishing up his second hot dog, blinked. “Oh. Oh, what, you- we should get an apartment? Together?”

“I don’t see any reason why not. You’re pretending whatever’s going on is fine, I seriously need to leave the nest. I think we can stand each other much more than we could a stranger.”

“Mmph.”

“Hey, I can look into the logistics. Give me your House Hunter must-haves list and I’ll work with that.”

“Oh, shut up.” Tommy paused to roll his eyes, but he immediately switched to look of contemplation. “Huh, roomies.” He grabbed the second hot dog in David’s hands, which was actually meant for Tommy, who remained two-handed despite his needed caloric intake.

“I have to insist that we cut back on our dubious hot dog intake.”

“ _Hey_ , that’s one of my must-haves.”

So it continued like this: David found a one bedroom apartment close to his work (commuting was never an issue for Tommy), and they moved in. 

A couch, questionable armchair, TV, Xbox, two bar stools, twin beds, various dressers, nightstands and shower caddy later, and they were roommates. 

There's a level of intimacy in sharing a space with someone. There was a level of intimacy in working together- the commute to work, coffee machine rituals in the break room, silence or small talk on opposite sides of the water cooler. 

There was a level of intimacy in being friends- knowing someone’s likes and dislikes and interests, being someone they wanted to hang out with, privately sharing laughter and conversations.

Then there was living in someone’s own space. David didn't ask what Tommy was like as a roommate when he lived with the Kaplans’, but living with him peeled off some of the remaining layers in David’s understanding of him.

David would wake up, get ready for work, scarf down a breakfast sandwich, and leave. Most days Tommy was home when David got off work, and they'd order takeout and play video games.

Some time later, David would wake up, get ready for work, and Tommy would shuffle into the kitchen before David left. More and more, Tommy would visit David during his lunch break. 

There came the learning of every square inch of each other's routines, and the mundanity of it all. David showered in the morning, Tommy showered at night. David slept in a little on weekends, Tommy got up early. David wore socks around the house, Tommy did not.

They took turns hoarding the remote, slumped against their couch on evenings and weekends, David stretching his legs over the coffee table and Tommy half flung over the arm of the couch.

Tommy would quietly shut off the lamp on David’s nightstand when he went to bed.

David would order takeout for the two of them in the event that he was home before Tommy.

Nothing that was hard to handle.

* * *

The first time it happened David was cleaning, when a wrapper tumbled out of the jeans Tommy left on the floor.

Tommy, in position to ignore David’s complaints about leaving his clothes on the floor, noticed David noticing the wrapper. He smiled.

“Oh, Wanda always has Dove chocolate in a little bowl at her apartment. She says me and Pietro can only have two each, which is bullshit, but.”

“My mom as well. Not the two piece limit though, that's a speedster thing.”

“ _Bullshiiiiiiit_.”

David chuckled, picking up the wrapper and smoothing it out. “Did you read it? My mom always does. She has a few taped up in her office too, I think.”

Tommy paused, swallowing. “Yeah, I did.”

“ _Hold hands firmly, hearts gently_.” David read.

* * *

The facts: Tommy did a pretty shitty job at acting like he didn't care about people, and it might have been partly purposeful.

Example 1: Tommy pretended to be nonchalant when it came to notifications, and he did genuinely ignore a lot of them. But. 

Even if his messages were a bit sporadic, he kept up with Billy. He replied to every fifth message from Billy, sent an occasional video or obscure photo, and most routinely, gave med reminders.

Example 2: If you steadily observed Kate’s near influencer-level Instagram, Tommy would always appear in the comments, likes, story views.

He might have texted Kate the most because they both were least likely to dig into each other’s shit, but then again, he had a personal stake in genuinely caring about his friend.

Example 3: Albeit a blur, he was a frequent background figure in Teddy’s posts. Time wasn't an issue in getting to places for him, after all.

Example 4: The many overheard phone calls with the Bradleys. 

Example 5: The pile of invitations and cards from the Kaplans.

Example 6: David’s nonexistent social media presence, just like Kate’s influencer level one, was instantly viewed by Tommy. 

By whatever means of notifications or super speed, it was clear Tommy kept tabs on everyone. 

And maybe that was the way he did it. A like on a post, an appearance at an event, a nonchalant message or phone call. Maybe that was his love language-there were no tearful heart-to-hearts or letters with his emotions pouring onto the page, but merely his presence. 

And that was a conscious choice. The choice of inserting himself and staying in someone's life. There were few limitations to him as far as physically being there for someone went, and so he did. He’d be there.

* * *

Tommy took the initiative to “better himself”. For some reason, it all had to do with food.

Initiative One: get a new job. Done. Tommy was an Uber Eats...driver...with an alarmingly fast deliveries and great tips. Plus a fluid schedule and still plenty of free time (though that was never an issue with super speed), that led to Initiative Two.

Do something nice. In general, but mostly for David. So Tommy was learning to cook. Kind of.

Which was partially Initiative Three-improve his mental health. Patience, yadda yadda…

But...mostly something nice. Because Tommy was observant. And there were several boxes of microwavable breakfasts in their freezer.

Tommy ate a lot, anyways. And technically he could run out to get something anytime, and David didn't have that luxury. And Tommy was home more. And he ate a lot, anyways.

Initiative Three was patience, and that interfered with Initiative Two. So Tommy burnt spaghetti somehow. Halfway through his second try, he realized how stupid it was that he was making noodles for David.

And then he washed everything and told David he got takeout from an Italian place.

And David ate it graciously, commented on how good it tasted, and didn't mention it obviously wasn’t from the three Italian restaurants they had takeout menus for.

So Tommy decided he should probably call Wanda. Or Rebecca. Anyone. 

* * *

David was in the habit of keeping the lights off when he got up so as not to wake Tommy, so it was easy to not notice the empty bed.

One morning hygiene session later, David opened the bathroom door and noticed the light coming from the kitchen.

Tommy looked up from the stove. “Hey.”

“Hey,” David said, “You're usually not up yet.”

Tommy blinked, silent, before turning his gaze back to the stove. “I made eggs.” He said.

So David simply replied, “Okay.”

David ate while reading the news on his phone, and Tommy scarfed down his larger helping in silence next to him.

When he finished, David stood, placing his plate and silverware in the sink. “Do you need-”

“No it's fine- go to work.” Tommy swallowed his forkful of scrambled eggs, his speech clearer. “I’ll...stop by for lunch.”

David nodded, grabbing his bag and coat and sharing a small smile as he unlocked the front door. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

The second time it happened, Tommy was walking out of the bathroom.

David looked over his shoulder. “Bubble bath?”

“In the wrappers, David.” Was Tommy’s reply. 

* * *

He was made of magic, quite literally. Stardust and mystery and the particles of the universe, fragments of lost souls and pieces of ancient languages sewing it all together. 

Magic is innately imperfect and vague, and his creation wouldn’t be an exception to the rule.

So sometimes when he felt shaky and unsettled, he didn’t know what to pin it on. An ADHD diagnosis, some trait from his powers, or.

Or the threads of the magic that made him coming loose at his fingertips. Two atoms forced together by a thought from a witch, undoing themselves. Maybe the buzzing inside of himself were those pieces of the universe trying to return home.

Whatever it was, it sucked.

He could take a prescription and wait for his legs to stop jittering at superspeed. And sometimes it helped. But sometimes the crawling feeling inside of him felt none too scientific. 

It took him ages to get comfortable to even think about his mental health while living with a psychologist. This felt more oppressing, more undeniable and unable to change.

He felt better over all, mostly. He didn’t have a numb tingling up his spine or unexplainable flashes of deja vu like he used to. He knew the cause now, and it had been relieved. Knowing his family helped. An ADHD diagnosis helped. 

Knowing exactly _what_ he was didn’t help. It felt too vast and daunting to think about or approach. Maybe Billy would be better with it. Or maybe he would get sucked into the mystery and spiral with anxiety. That was one way they were different. Billy gave into the feeling, Tommy blocked it.

The infinite question of the making of the universe and the altering of the fabric of it to make two shitty babies wasn’t one Tommy would be asking. _Who_ to ask alluded him more. He wouldn’t burden Wanda with that, and he wasn’t inclined to seek out any of the sorcerer posse that might know. Anyone else would have as much of a clue as he did.

Well.

Most people. Besides the freaky magicians he’d met in Wanda’s living room who talked _weird_ , there weren’t a lot of people who could even process half of what they said, let alone stay sane hearing it and be able to regurgitate it in layman’s terms. It was a very specific job description.

Who lived with Tommy.

So maybe, when Tommy was laying on his back with his fingers splayed out and twitching, his leg jittering back and forth, that very person could give him some answers as to _why_. 

Tommy merely grunted in greeting when David came home. David took in the scene before him silently, going about his routine of putting down his jacket and bag, slipping his shoes off, rolling his sleeves up-

“You took your meds?”

Tommy huffed.

David perched himself on the chair next to the couch, tilting his head. “So this is different.”

“Mind reader.” Tommy mumbled.

“You’re just a lot....quieter. And anxious-and _yes_ , you do get anxious, Tommy. It...worries me.”

He waited patiently for Tommy to respond. Tommy couldn’t even put it into words inside his own head, but David’s therapist-voice always seem to yank his thoughts out of him.

“It’s just...wrong. I don’t know. Fucked up. I’m not being existential, okay, but I _shouldn’t_ exist, right? I don’t know how magic works. I don’t know how Wanda or Billy or...Doctor Strange do it and I don’t understand, but I can _feel_ it. I can _feel_ that this is fucked up. Like, all this shit that made me wants _out_ and I don’t fucking blame it. It’s just _buzzing_ and it doesn’t stop and it’s not my ADHD or mutation or anything I can at least sort of understand. It’s-what? Threads of actual reality are yanking off of all the shit that got thrown into making me, or whatever. I don’t even _know._ ”

David put his hand on the armrest above Tommy’s head. “I’m definitely not your mom or brother, but I know enough to say you aren’t _fucked up_ , Tommy. Magic is weird and I won’t pretend I can even parse it that well myself, but I know even the most unbelievable feats are things that _can_ happen. Are _allowed_ , or _supposed_ to. Nothing about you is contrary to what the multiverse will allow. None of it is anything malignant. I can’t critique how you were _created_ , and magic can be unpredictable, but not necessarily bad. Whatever makes you feel like this, I think that’s as far as it cons go. I won’t downplay your discomfort or feelings, and I’ll help as much as I think I can. But as far as the pros go, I think you’re pretty fucking phenomenal. I think whatever made you must be pretty amazing, and everything about that is incredible.” 

Tommy kept his jaw clenched and his gaze towards the ceiling. “I just want to stop feeling it.”

David was silent, and from his periphery Tommy could see David studying his face. He had become more used to David’s moments of contemplation. Even if it was about him.

“I’m going to try something,” David said, “But tell me if it’s bad. Okay?” He waited.

“Okay.” Tommy said. 

David shifted onto the ground, kneeling before Tommy on the couch. He pulled himself up slightly, placing an arm across Tommy’s abdomen. He looked down, asking, “Okay so far?”

His face was inches from Tommy’s, and Tommy merely nodded in response.

David shifted further, resting his head atop Tommy’s chest. It was near his heart, probably. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

The weight of David on Tommy’s chest pushed him into the couch, the floor, the ground, the earth. It felt like his back had hit something solid. It was warm, both physically and in any other sense of the word. The feeling stopped. He felt the couch, and he felt David.

Tommy had issues with feeling trapped. He needed open spaces to move and run. He became antsy, closed in physically, and in any other sense of the word. There, pinned, between the couch and David, he felt none of that. 

And David’s head was probably just above Tommy’s heart. So he could hear the obnoxious, constant, accelerated beat of his pulse. There were certainly a lot of disadvantages to David’s vast knowledge, and Tommy just hoped David didn’t figure to do any math on the actual resting rate of a speedster’s heartbeat. 

Tommy curled a hand into the fabric of David’s shirt, at the jut of the shoulder spread over him. The other found the nape of David’s neck.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

The third time it happened, it was David’s doing. He taped “ _You are exactly where you are supposed to be”_ to the fridge. His mom would be proud. 

* * *

Kate would later tell Tommy it was a date. (It was not).

It was just another part of their routine. Part of them.

The part where Tommy was indecisive and picky, and David ended up choosing exactly what both of them wanted. The part where Tommy nabbed the bill before David could even catch a glance at it. 

It was just another part of their routine that David requested to order when they got their drinks.

“Drink specials are mimosas- for brunch.” David murmured, reading off the small plastic drink menu placed at every table.

“Oh, shit. Is that why it's so crowded? With the time you finally get up we're here for lunch. Or dinner for seniors.”

“Hey- this crowd is all our age. And you like the 4 o'clock specials.”

(That was true. Tommy also kind of liked old people, though he joked it was because David acted like an old man.)

“I also like mimosas, and sending Kate snaps of mimosas she’s not drinking.”

David smirked. “Ulterior motive, I see.”

“Multitasking.” Tommy countered.

One drink order later, and Tommy was setting up his glass for pictures. 

“What was that thing you said about Teddy’s Instagram and pictures of f-”

Tommy, snapping way more photos than necessary, rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up and help me pick out one that's not blurry.”

David obliged with a small upturn of his lips, scooching his chair towards Tommy, craning his neck to look at Tommy’s phone.

With David’s help, Tommy sent a considerably highbrow and aesthetically pleasing picture of their mimosas, captioned “clink clink bitch”.

“Charming.” David huffed, leaning away from Tommy.

He received a raspberry in return.

Tommy happily sipped his mimosa as he waited for their food and Kate’s response.

It came, a picture of Kate’s face, with ample behead, captioned, “I’ll track u down u son of a witch”.

Then, not a minute later, a close up of her eyes and one raised eyebrow, captained, “are u with David”.

Tommy snapped an unflattering close up of an unaware David, captioned, “yes”.

Tommy watched the chat bubble for several moments, before Kate’s reply came. A close up on Lucky, forever winking, captioned, “gay”.

Tommy must have made a face, because David asked, “What did Kate say?”

With his record response time and hopefully passable lying, he said, “She’s jelly and hunting me down.”

David’s eyes crinkled with a small laugh, and Tommy really wished he wasn't thinking about what Kate said as he watched David.

Fucking _Kate_.

They got their brunch, with Tommy decidedly ignoring his phone, and ordering more mimosas in a futile revenge towards Kate.

This was how they always were- this was a microcosm of anything Tommy and David; eating together, shooting the shit, always in sync, their perfectly mundane routine.

Finishing his French toast, David wiped his mouth with his napkin before saying, “You know, I don't know if that beats yours.”

Tommy looked up from his pile of pancakes. “What?”

“Your French toast,” David clarified, “I don't think this place holds up.”

Okay. Tommy had been cooking for David. Tommy had been _learning_ to cook for David. Now that was part of their routine, as much as them getting takeout or going out-

 _Eating_ out, and Tommy didn't know where to store this piece of validation. Maybe it was different from every time David ate his food and complimented it. Maybe it was David bringing it up outside those specific instances. Maybe it was the stupid thing Kate had said.

“Oh,” he said, “That- thanks.” 

He had no snippy reply.

David tilted his head as he looked at him, and Tommy returned to stuffing his face with pancakes, gaze downwards.

He waited for the sounds of David continuing to eat, and he looked up.

It was a really nice thing he had said.

* * *

The fourth time, David didn't know if he was supposed to see it, but smoothed out, piled on Tommy's dresser were “ _It's definitely a bubble bath day”_ , “ _Inhale the future, exhale the past_ ,”, and _“Hands are meant to be held”_. 

(Tommy kept them in his wallet, apparently)

* * *

Tommy was lying on the couch (their couch), and he was smiling. Unexpectedly, he motioned David over, and tilted the phone towards him.

Tommy, one eye closed, his tongue sticking out, childish face paint on his cheeks that was halfway sweat off. A young girl, blonde, a small smile and a lightning mark and rainbow on her cheek, only 5% sweat off.

“Your cousin, right?”

“Mm.” Tommy flicked to the next picture, nearly identical but blurrier. 

“She’s got a big noggin like you,” he said, looking up at David. He was still smiling as he flicked David’s forehead. 

“Recognizing what matters, I see.”

“Oh shadduuup.” Tommy flipped over from where he was flopped on one side of the couch to flop onto David. “You have abs, idiot.”

“What happened to the big noggin?”

Tommy looked up briefly at David to blow a raspberry. “That ‘wisdom vs intelligence’ thing you were telling me about. That.”

David held in a smile. “So you listened to that? I thought you were playing Candy Crush.”

“I can play and listen at the same time. The playing helps with the listening. I always listen.”

David blinked, looking at the seemingly undisturbed Tommy in his lap. “You do?”

Tommy stopped flicking through pictures. “What? Yeah. Why wouldn't I?”

Well...he had David there. “I don't know.”

Tommy’s gaze stuck for a moment, before he returned to flicking through photos, much slower. David knew by now that Tommy was actually processing what to say.

“I like listening to you.” He said it in his own form of ‘nonchalance’, but there was a stillness in him that David knew meant he was coiled tight like a spring.

“And I like listening to you. Even if your stories often involve Billy’s zits.”

Tommy snorted, and eased back into David. “As you would say, history is meant to be recorded. Or passed down. Orally.”

“You're making sex jokes out of important life lessons.”

“Everything that comes out of your mouth is a sex joke.”

“And that...is yet another sex joke.”

Tommy squirmed up to look David in the eye. His voice was teasing, despite the mock-serious expression on his face. “ _You_ are a sex joke.”

David raised an eyebrow in turn. Tommy, realizing the distance between their noses and the implications of his own jokes, flinched backwards. 

It was probably an “oh shit” moment.

* * *

Tommy fell in love in a crash. He pushed himself into David’s life. And then he was there, and he stayed. He planted his feet for whatever reason, and before he had the chance to think about it he would see David and his train of thought would be lost.

He didn't think about it because instead he was watching David, doing things with David, being with David. And he fell and fell and he landed on the couch in _his_ and David’s apartment, with his own bed and his clothes in his own drawer, and then he was in the kitchen making breakfast and walking to lunch with him and going to and fro in a routine and-

Tommy fell into mundanity and David was always there. David read and watched TV and went to work and made grilled cheese on their stove and vacuumed and turned off the overhead light in their room. _Their_ room, but not in the way it could be.

* * *

When Billy opened his apartment door, he found Tommy laying in the middle of the living room’s shag rug.

“Oh. Hey. Tommy.”

“Mm.” Was all the response he got from his brother.

Billy cleared his mental schedule and closed the door, setting down his bag and approaching Tommy.

“You just phased through, right? And didn't mess with the lock again.”

“Yes,” Tommy said, gaze still elsewhere, “Teddy messaged me last time and said you got phone anxiety trying to call someone to fix it.”

“I didn't-” and Tommy actually looked at him then, so Billy relented. He sat next to him. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. So…what's up?”

“I'm thinking about why life and shit is happening. And you used to lay on the floor when you mentally checked out during finals or got bad and whatever and shit and yeah, it's helpful.”

“Uh. Tommy, are you okay-”

A startled look crossed his previously glazed out eyes, and he snapped towards Billy’s concerned face. “Oh, shit. Yeah. No. Not like...that. You. Just general philosophy or something. Shit. Sorry.” 

“Okay,” Billy breathed, “That's good, I guess. But why here? I haven't pushed you on it or anything, but you do have somewhere to live, right?”

“ _Yes,_ I do. You're just kinda more of an expert at dealing with freak outs. That _is_ a compliment. And David coming into the apartment and asking about it defeats the purpose.”

“Freaking out. David. Okay. Correlation?”

Tommy’s face morphed into something other than the blank haze it had been. “So. Dealing with it. Lay down.”

Billy obliged, the two looking up at the living room ceiling. No stars up there like their bedroom at the Kaplans’, and Billy made a mental note to do some totally childish apartment decorating as he waited for Tommy to continue.

“So you know how I have intimacy issues?”

“...Yes?”

“Kay, well, thinking about those right now. And you know I've gotten over some shit, case in point this brotherly bonding right now, but I haven't really gotten into that with more...intimate shit.”

Billy winced. “ _Oh._ Don't be too graphic.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Billy waited.

Tommy definitely wasn't waiting as well. “Okay. Not going into self-hatred mode, because I know you'll give me shit for that as much as I give _you_ shit for that, but. It happens. It’s happened. You know how I've thought people have thought about me, and it's the same with this. Like, I love Kate, but that whole thing definitely felt pretty fucking par for the course. And whatever it was with Lisa didn't land either, so.”

“Oh, shit. Lisa. That...I mean, it...sucks, but you, uh, know she-”

“Billy, if you keep going I will give you _so much_ shit about the guys you told me-”

“Alright! Okay. So…”

Tommy let out of breath. “So. People like me now, like, I actually have friends and family and I'm not freaking out about it constantly. But nothing has worked out in the 'Love Department' or whatever you want to call it, so even though I’m ‘emotionally stable’ now I have no clue how to deal with it.”

“And it's...David, then?”

“Yeaaaaah.”

Billy twisted his mouth in thought. “I kinda have no idea how to help you. I have no idea how I'm in a stable relationship. Like, you know I'm still totally socially backwards and a little fucked-”

“ _Hey_.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I just...you did it before. And David's your friend, so you've let him in that far. You've done that before. You just have to try to do it...more.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment.

“Wow. Can I recite that at your wedding.”

Billy shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Tommy let out a breath. “Look at us. Two adults laying on the floor talking about people we like-like. Fuck.”

“Hey, I'm engaged.”

“You also can't do your own laundry.”

“And you _barely_ know how to do yours.” Billy paused. “And...you'll be okay, you know. You're not messed up, or incapable or anything. It's just...new. And for the record, I don't think anyone really knows how to do it. I don't know how I did. Kate’s still one foot in the denial closet. And you know how many ex boyfriends she's had. And she's Kate.”

“Kate.” Tommy agreed.

“Kate. America’s probably the most put together of all of us, and even she’s got her shit with Kate.”

“Fucking Kate.” Tommy let out a breath. “We all really are just trying to make the mortifying ordeal of being known worth it.”

“Wow. Where did you get that?”

“David.”

Billy let out a surprised chuckle. “Damn, you must really be in deep if he's got you getting genuinely philosophical. Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Good.” Tommy said. “Definitely good.”

* * *

The fifth time, David came home to Tommy staring down at a wrapper simply saying “ _Wing it_ ”.

The sixth time, Tommy had taped a sticky note and a wrapper to the fridge. A message was written onto the sticky note, leading to the heavily modified wrapper.

It read:

_Are you the Melter? Because…._

**You** _make_ ~~someone~~ **me** _melt_ ~~today~~

Tommy didn't look at it when he was home, and David wondered what exactly Tommy was trying to convey. Until.

The seventh time, Tommy came through the front door, saw David, and with a determined look, fished a crumpled wrapper from his pocket and threw it at David. 

He caught it, and looked at Tommy, eyes dead set and impatient. He carefully unraveled the tight aluminum ball and smoothed it out.

“ _‘Like’ someone in person_.”

David looked up. He thought for a second, about whether he should respond to reassure Tommy, and what that response should be. But Tommy had planned this, and gathered up the courage to be bold.

He said, “And I like you.”

David said, “Hold hands firmly, hearts gently.”

And the tension in Tommy’s body left in an exhale, breathy and near laughing and near hysterical. 

He stumbled forward, quickly, in the speed a speedster innately has, but still the grace of someone desperate and unstable and reckless. David grabbed onto his arms where Tommy stood before him on the couch.

“I don't have any Dove wrappers to say I like you too and want to go on a date. And most everything else I want to say.” He said.

“Those cheesy wrappers were the only way I could spit it out. No more cheese, or I'll explode. Seriously. It's embarrassing.”

“It's definitely a bubble bath day.” David murmured, smiling up, and Tommy failed to conceal a smile looking down.

He playfully swatted David’s head. “We’re boycotting the hand holding now, too.”

David slid his hand from Tommy’s elbow to just below his wrist. “Neither of us believe that.”

Some time after, Tommy against him, David reached out to find a newly acquired wrapper. Tommy groaned when he saw it, but looked expectantly at David. 

“ _Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves_.”

Tommy’s hand curled right onto David's shirt, and he remained silent.

He was learning to. And it was better, with David.

* * *

David didn't fall in love, but found himself in it. It eased onto him, to where he'd be sitting and not so much as realize it but know it. It was a familiar thought, not an epiphany. It came to mind like a long forgotten memory in the back of his head, like it had always been there. 

It got at most a small acknowledgment, because it felt as if it was silly to even have to confirm it. David met Tommy, and then they lived together. They became friends, they ate together, they walked ( _walked_ ) home from work together, they watched Saturday morning cartoons together. Tommy ran to get them lunch on busy days, eating while crammed in David’s cubicle. David saved menus of Tommy’s favorite take out, even if Tommy protested he could run there faster if he really wanted to. Tommy told David he couldn’t cook, and then one morning David woke up to scrambled eggs, and then pancakes, and then an omelet just like David ordered at Denny’s.

So it was ‘logical’, in a sense. David knew better than to categorize love like that, but it made sense. Of course he would be in love with Tommy. He woke up each day and it was more and more of the same thing, a step of his life and a step towards being in love with Tommy. 

It was those things that reaffirmed it, the picked-at hangnails on his thumbs, the tooth that only made an appearance with the most crooked of smiles, the fallen eyelash on his cheek as he rubbed his bleary eyes in the morning. Of course he was in love with Tommy.

* * *

It happened like this, after their first official date, standing in their threshold of their hallway.

Tommy _wasn’t_ nervous. David knew he was.

"I can tell by your heart rate." He said.

"It's not normal."

"I know. I learned what was normal for you. I figured out what wasn't."

Tommy kept his gaze to David’s neck, the collar of the button up he wore to dress up for their date. "You did?"

"Yeah."

"It's not normal." He relented.

"Not right now, no."

"No." He agreed.

"Is something wrong?"

"...I just really like you."

"I really like you too." David moved Tommy's hand to his wrist. His pulse was fast for his normal.

Tommy finally looked up after he moved David’s other hand to his own pulse. David knew, already, and had commented on it. But Tommy saw no issue in letting him know. And keep letting him know.

David strengthened his hold on Tommy’s wrist. “Are we holding hands?”

Tommy didn't dignify David with an answer, but with a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for my friend Kate, [supersoldierskywalker!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoldierskywalker/works) Be sure to check out her fics too! 
> 
> Yes I looked up dove wrapper quotes and saved a bunch of photos of them on my phone to put into my fic. And Kate liking mimosas is canon. 
> 
> Follow my tumblr [gwystyl](https://gwstyl.tumblr.com/), and Kate's tumblr [bi-finnskywalker](https://https://bi-finnskywalker.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Different Kates.


End file.
